


Your Life Matters

by Pippin4242



Category: FAKE (Manga)
Genre: Gen, M/M, but also there's pudding, the police safety talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 15:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippin4242/pseuds/Pippin4242
Summary: Summer in America, and people are wary, factional. Clinton's the president, I'll Be Missing You tops the charts, getting lost in the closet sucks, and it's hard to know how to keep your black child safe. It's 1997.The more things change, the more they stay the same.





	Your Life Matters

Work and home were separate. That had always seemed important, somehow. But the summer of '97 was long and hot, and that always made his kind of work more difficult. Focus was slipping. The long evenings and the tension bubbling below the surface threatened to become something more. Just the kind of weather everybody loved. Just the kind of weather which made everybody in his office complain. It was a buzz around him, which he tried not to sink into. Randy was desperate to avoid being subsumed.

“Too damn hot.”

“Can't think in this weather.”

“People are getting nasty.”

“Shitty goddamned budget, when are we gonna get decent AC again?”

“Miss the old office.”

“Those boys are staying out later and later...”

“Boss, we need fewer suit days!”

Randy tried hard to ignore it, like the flies, or the prickling heat under the collar of his dress shirt. He was better than this. Or at least, he was separate to it. Indifferent. His office wasn't of one mind. Or if it was, he wasn't of it himself.

Just sometimes. Talk like this could be a nail driven into the back of his head. Maybe it was his turn, he supposed, to get a taste of it. He'd probably contributed to talk like it. He'd probably benefited from people thinking like it.

It was subtle. But once you started to notice it was a poison. A miasma, clinging to the humidity in this _fucking_ hot little room full of... of rustling papers, of phones ringing, of whirring computers, of loud, complaining, ignorant, _stupid_ white men.

“...don't like it, Chief... there's folks round there looking for trouble at the moment. If only we could get a bit of rain to break things up...”

Randy put the end of his cheap pen in his mouth and bit down, feeling the plastic crack slowly. It was deeply satisfying. He closed his eyes to appreciate the release it brought.

And removed the pen from his mouth once more. Honestly, you could break a tooth that way. What a waste of money and good health that would be.

His trip home was no less hazy. It felt like his shoes were sticking to the sidewalk, and it was hard to hear people's voices. His briefcase felt too heavy, then too light, and hard to hold onto with his hands slightly sweaty. It changed hands from left to right to left to right.

He was thinking of different evenings in a different city. Overheard over the radio, watched in idle snatches on the TV, then closer and closer and with growing horror over the nights that had followed.

He was going to have to talk to Bikky tonight.

\---

It was well after six by the time Bikky showed up, bursting through the apartment door so hard it hit the coats hanging behind it. Normally Randy would be buoyed just by hearing how happy and energetic he was, but this time he couldn't help thinking about it a little more. Bikky's school ran until quarter past three. His extra basketball practice was over by four thirty, even if he stayed to help clear up. His campus was only twenty minutes away, and that was if he took the safe route home. So where had he been for the rest of the time?

A pair of huge, bright eyes appeared around the doorframe, and Randy remembered why he always found it so hard to tell the boy off.

“What's for dinner~?” wheedled Bikky.

“Mmmm, I don't know...” replied Randy, “depends on whether you've got shoes on or not.”

Bikky looked guilty for a split second, then returned to blank-faced innocence. “What would be for dinner if I wasn't wearing shoes in the apartment?” he asked sweetly.

“Chicken nuggets.”

“Am I in trouble?” Bikky asked abruptly, stepping into the kitchen, all pretence of hiding his sneakers gone.

“Am I really that cruel to you?” snorted Randy. “Just because I make you eat your veggies doesn't mean I never make chicken nuggets.”

“No, it's just we had them already this week. Ryo, did something bad happen?”

A little hand tugged gently at his shirt. Bikky looked so innocent and so young that it was hard to think of him as the child whose teachers had called Randy in to school four times in the last month. Randy clasped his bony boyish shoulder firmly.

“Of course not, little bug. I promised I'd tell you straight away if something was up, didn't I?”

“Yeah...” said Bikky, sheepishly.

“Would I ever not tell you the truth?”

“No, but you're kinda spacey like that. Like, I wouldn't be surprised if you forgot you told me you'd say.”

“Oh come on,” said Randy, squeezing Bikky's shoulder companionably. “You're as mean to me as Dee sometimes! I'm not that out of it, you know. They wouldn't give me a gun if I wasn't trustworthy, now, would they?”

Bikky looked doubtful.

Randy ran the words back through his mind. God, it was so _easy_ to think about it like that. To default back to the language his colleagues favoured. But he wasn't here for platitudes, not today, and he really didn't think cops were gods.

He let Bikky go, and threw a couple of handfuls of green beans into the pot. “Okay, so maybe they _would_. We're gonna talk about that tonight, okay?”

It hurt a bit to say it. It wasn't as though Randy didn't have faith in his fellow officers. He knew he'd put himself in harm's way to save them in a second, and that it was the same for them. Hell, they'd already run into actual, non-hypothetical danger together often enough. But there was something taboo about bringing it up... Like when his parents had argued when he was a child – they were always determined to present a united front when they spoke to him, and Randy had never been meant to know. He'd rarely heard them fall out – a cross word here or there perhaps – but it was always hushed up and pushed away. He wasn't meant to know that they weren't a single force, of a single mind – that would have weakened their authority, and maybe even their ability to care for him. Telling Bikky that the cops wouldn't always have his back was like that... a yawning chasm Randy was opening up before himself.

But this was going to be a part of fatherhood, wasn't it? Or maybe it wasn't for everybody...

It _had_ to be a part of fatherhood for Randy.

Bikky was staring at him, on the verge of sullenness. “It's chicken nuggets again because you want a Serious Conversation,” he said, overpronouncing in his irritation. “I knew there'd be a freaking catch.”

“Not every serious conversation has to be a bad one, Bikky...” Randy reassured him, anxious to please.

“You don't believe that and I don't either! Just tell me whatever stupid thing it is and get it out the way!”

Randy sighed. “Nothing gets past you, huh Bikster. Look, I'm a grown up but that doesn't mean I like having difficult conversations either. This one's a doozy, okay?” He nudged at the beans vaguely with a spoon. “I kind of feel bad for not talking about this stuff more... but it feels weird, like it's kinda not my conversation to have. Go set the table, okay?”

Bikky shot him a rebellious glance.

“You know those chocolate puddings in the fridge?”

Bikky left at a run.

“And take your shoes off before coming in!” Randy called after him.

“This isn't over!” yelled Bikky from the other room. “But I really do like chocolate pudding!”

\---

Bikky pushed his green beans around the plate with his fork. “Me and Dad never used to have Serious Conversations.”

“I know, Bikky,” Randy said, warmly.

“It's not like I mind you want to talk to me about serious stuff. It's just it's like being told off by the teacher.”

Randy dipped a chicken nugget into his ketchup, and wondered with a mild personal despair whether he'd ever grow to like them. “I don't agree, but I don't mind that you think that,” he said.

“Why don't you think it's the same?”

“I don't think teachers always want to hear your opinion. And when you go home at the end of the day, you don't have to see Mr Brian or even think about him, but you and I live in this apartment together so we have to get along even when we don't agree, and you'll always have a place here.” He met Bikky's eyes with a grin.

“Yeah,” mumbled Bikky, and ate a large forkful of the beans, dropping his gaze.

“And not every teacher you ever meet is going to like you, even when they're nice. But I love you, no matter what.”

Bikky smiled faintly. “...love you too, Ryo.” He choked down the beans. “And don't tell me off for talking with my mouth full, I was saying something legit.”

Randy laughed a little at that, abashed. “You know what I wanted to talk to you about tonight?”

Bikky gave him a bright, earnest look. “The gay thing or the race thing?”

Randy suddenly seemed to have swallowed his beans all wrong. He gulped down some water and choked back tears. “Um, what?”

“The gay thing, or the race thing,” repeated Bikky flatly.

“The, uh, the race thing!” Randy felt he'd already lost his grip on the conversation.

Bikky laughed. “I don't think this is gonna be the same as when I had the race talk with my dad.”

Randy wiped his eyes and smiled, embarrassed. “No? Why's that?”

“Um, for one thing you're a cop?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“And he was a freaking dealer?”

“Yeah, he was. Anything else?”

“Um. 's gonna be a different talk because you're not black, right?”

“I think so, yeah. It's hard because you probably know a lot more than me about the stuff I wanted to talk to you about, but it would be really wrong if I didn't try and make sure you were safe.”

“Why d'you feel so awkward about it, Ryo? It's not like you're white.” Bikky started picking at his oven fries by hand, safe in the knowledge that Randy wasn't going to tell him off for it tonight.

“Yeah, but you know most people assume I am.”

“Um!” Bikky leaned across the table in astonishment. “A guy literally tried to kill you for being Japanese! A racist guy literally came after you with a meat cleaver! Come on dude, this is why Dee always says you're freaking oblivious!”

“Mmmm...” Randy traced a fry in its pool of ketchup, thoughtfully. “It's not just the passing thing, which by the way I really try not to get into... like, I don't hide it, but I don't like playing it up, in either direction? But either way, I figure whatever crap I get you must be getting it worse. Have you heard of the idea of a 'model minority'?”

“I know nobody drugged my tea and came after me with a great big knife!”

“Model minorities... that's when you've got a group who don't get to be called white, but people still often assume the best of them. It's how we talk about the way that even a positive stereotype can hurt people. Like how people expect Asian kids to be really good at math at school. Is it like that in your class?”

“I dunno... Phil's really good at math, for real, but Jazz sucks.”

Randy remembered seeing Jazz – Jasmine – at the last parent teacher conference. A bubbly little girl with a mass of curls and two cute little gold earrings peeking out from under them.

“I meant South-East Asian kids,” he clarified. “This stuff can get really specific, right?”

“I guess, yeah... Phil does always get mad when people ask him for help with their math homework.”

“Is Phil the only kid who does well in math, or is he the only one people ask for help?” Randy leaned closer, watching Bikky consider. “What do you think?”

“I think I get you...” he said, uneasily.

“It can be hard when there's pressure to succeed, and it's not just because of getting attention from your peers. Maybe if Phil needed extra help in math he'd find it harder to get, or maybe if he wasn't getting As his parents wouldn't be very happy.”

“Everybody thinks I'm gonna be a basketball player...” mused Bikky.

Randy smiled. “You are really good at basketball. And I bet Phil really is good at math. But when somebody expects something good from you, it can mean feeling like a failure just for being ordinary. Or that you get ignored if you're really good at something people don't expect you to be good at. Like, did you know it's very hard for black ballerinas to get good parts?”

“No,” said Bikky, his fry halfway to his mouth. “But I guess I don't feel like I ever see 'em on the subway posters.”

“That's right. It's not fair, but even when you use use stereotypes you think are positive, it can push people into little boxes, which isn't good... but really, somebody who might look Asian in America, like me, isn't necessarily in a bunch of extra danger when it comes to interacting with the police. So... this conversation isn't about me, Bikky. You're right that some people have given me crap in the past, and I'm sure some people will give me crap in the future... but if you looked at my office, what would you see?”

“For real?” asked Bikky, his mouth full.

“You can say what you like to me. You know I always tell you that.”

“Bunch of white guys...?” suggested Bikky cautiously, as though he expected to be reprimanded.

“It's not wrong to think that somebody looks white,” smiled Randy. “I like that you and Dee see my mom in me, but all three of us know that if I came down the street and arrested a black guy tomorrow, he's not gonna see me as a member of a minority group, is he? There's a bunch of nuance to this stuff.”

“You kinda are though...” mulled Bikky. “I mean, with how things are with you and Dee.”

Randy felt his toes squirming in his slippers.

“Bikky... this conversation is meant to be about, um, keeping you from trusting police officers too much just because you know the boys at the twenty-seventh. I don't really see...”

“Hey, be fair!” insisted Bikky, brandishing his fork at Randy. “I didn't want to have the race talk! I get it, okay? I get people are gonna be nicer to you than me if they're shitty jerks, unless they've got it in for just Japanese people like that one guy! Just 'cos I hadn't heard of model minorities doesn't mean I don't see how people are all the time. I get it, Ryo, I listen to you, I really do, but I really don't think you always listen to me!” His wide-eyed innocent outrage sizzled across the table.

Randy sighed. “Okay, what would you like to say about me and Dee?”

“You're...” The fight was going out of Bikky a bit. He speared a chicken nugget irritably. “You're gonna get in trouble too, you know.”

“What, at work? For how things are with Dee? I don't think anybody's going to bla-”

“I mean everywhere! Everywhere, Ryo! Not everyone is nice! You're kind so you always think other people are going to be kind but that's not how it is! And just 'cos you had to actually think about racism 'cos you've got me to worry about doesn't mean you really think about how to stay safe! You think your gun's gonna keep you safe? Even when it's at work half the time? Even when your head's in the clouds? Even when you're, you're, staring at Dee's butt?”

Randy put down his fork, all pretence of interest in the food lost. He felt himself tugging at the edges of his cuffs and was annoyed at being so obvious. Why could everybody read him so easily? How was a ten-year-old telling him how to navigate the world like a sensible human?

Bikky was staring at him, waiting for some kind of response. He seemed to think there was half a chance he was in trouble.

“Bikky, you know we speak our minds at this table, so long as nobody's rude on purpose.”

Bikky gave a curt nod, and nibbled tentatively at a bean.

Randy sighed. “I don't even know how I feel about Dee myself. Are people really going to give me crap because they just assume we're in a relationship? Understand, I'm asking you this man to man. You can't get in trouble for the answer, but please try not to be mean about him.”

“But this is _about_ him, Ryo. He's dragging you into something you don't even want to _do_ , and he's putting you in danger! You think some crackhead asshole's gonna care whether or not you two actually go all the way? He's gonna see two guys being all sweet and gentle together, making fun, touching all the time, fixing each other's clothes, that kinda thing.”

Bikky put down his fork with the bean still on it, and leaned towards Randy, his eyes filled with honesty, and maybe even a trace of wetness, mirroring the urge to cry that Randy was still trying to ignore in himself..

“You're gonna be in _danger_. And I don't like it.”

Randy's heart fell to the floor. This whole thing with Bikky and Dee had never been about Dee, had it? Or even much about Randy himself – this was about Bikky's father. It had to be.

“I'm not... Bikky, I'm not going to _leave_ you...”

“Dad thought that too!” burst Bikky.

Long golden lashes blinked back tears. His fist was balled tight around his fork. A horrible sour feeling had permeated their meal. Randy steepled his fingers for a moment, pressed his forehead to his hands, and made an executive decision, looking straight into Bikky's eyes.

“Never mind about finishing your main dinner. I'm getting the puddings. You've got a job too.”

“Yeah?” asked Bikky, trepidatious.

“Blanket fort, you've got two minutes, try and beat me to it. GO!” Bikky vanished.

Randy zipped around the table in his socked feet, grabbing the plates and their half-eaten food to deal with later. He put them down on the counter, seized a couple of spoons, and raced to the fridge. Both puddings in one hand, he charged into the living room – not fast enough! His couch had vanished from view. The comforter from his bed was folded neatly over the seat and onto the floor, and Bikky's X-Men covers were draped over the back and sides, with a tall lamp in the middle to keep it held aloft over two chairbacks. The lamp was plugged in, and the main lights were off, sending a cosy glow through the room. A handful of Christmas lights were scattered across the top of the fort. He'd been gone such a short time, and Bikky had made the room into something special and magical. His ADHD didn't make it easy for the kid to sit still in a classroom all day, but Bikky undoubtedly always rose to a challenge.

Randy remembered how many stores he'd been to before he'd found any covers with black characters on them. He hadn't been sure if he'd been making a fuss at the time, and he still wasn't sure now. But he was glad he'd done it.

He also remembered how he'd used to have a different kind of living room. He'd have called it tasteful. Dee would have called it 'minimalist,' with a sort of blue-collar sneer.

Randy bent double to peer into the fort. “May I enter?”

A muffled voice responded. “Fortmaster, Master Of The Fort, says, 'Three Questions I Do Get!'” He was wearing Randy's hooded jacket, backwards, pulled over his face.

“Pray ask them, good sir!”

“Question one!”

“Yes?”

“You got the _goods_ , Maclean?”

“My good fellow, I come bearing gifts as instructed!” Randy brandished the puddings.

“Question two!”

“Yes my liege!”

“Can Carol come over on Tuesday? There's a monster movie marathon and we want the TV.”

“Fortmaster will have to call and ask her aunt if that's okay, because it's a school night.”

“That's cool. Question three! Who's more important to you, me or Dee?”

Randy straightened up for a moment to think. “Bikky –”

“Fortmaster, Master Of The Fort!”

“My lord Fortmaster... doth my lord decree that I answer as I would if I thought, in the future... that perhaps I loved him?”

“Yes,” came the unemotional reply.

Randy sank to his knees and looked Fortmaster in the hood. “If I fell in love with somebody... sexy, romantic love, they'd be important to me. Like maybe even really important, staying with me for the rest of my life, maybe even longer than you'd want to, Bikster, like years after you go to college and find yourself a wonderful woman. And both you and that other person would end up being my number one guy at the same time, for always. But I think –” He leaned into the fort, the better to plead his case, “that the question Fortmaster, Master Of The Fort, really wants to ask me is 'who comes first?'. And if that's the question, then the answer is you, it's always you, it's always gonna be you. It's different, loving your child and loving your partner. But anybody who can't put their kid first –” he drew a breath, about to violate one of his own unspoken house rules “– is _such_ a piece of shit, Bikky, I'd never do that to you. We'll work all this out. I promise.”

Randy attempted to crawl into the fort.

“The price!” extolled the back of his jacket.

He gently tossed one of the puddings into Bikky's lap, followed closely by a spoon.

“You may enter,” said Fortmaster, softly.

Randy entered awkwardly, still clutching his own pudding and spoon, and curled up against the front of the couch. He was glad for the high ceilings of his apartment – it wasn't too hot in here to enjoy messing around with Bikky, even though the sun had been so intense outside earlier.

“Fortmaster?”

“'es?” came the muffled response.

“I don't mind you stealing my jacket, but you'd better turn it around if you want to eat pudding in it.”

“Hmmph. Fine.” Bikky's face reappeared as he shuffled the jacket around himself.

He ate his pudding very slowly, licking tiny amounts off the tip of the spoon. Randy had long since finished his own as he watched. The pudding cups in general had bothered him: it surely wasn't good value to buy these cheap little things and then throw the packaging away when he was done. Really, you were paying for the weight of the plastic as much as anything else. He'd thought about trying to find a recipe somewhere that tasted just like the real thing, but then he'd need to buy ramekins to set it in, and that might be disproportionate expense, and then he'd have to find somewhere to store them in his cupboards, and somehow he'd never quite gotten round to it.

Bikky just _liked_ it, because it tasted good. And if he wanted to take quarter of an hour to eat it, he was obviously getting something out of it. So why the hell not?

Randy hugged his knees in the fort and waited and watched and loved him, from his long skinny shins to his toes with their cute, clipped nails, gripping at the comforter, to his wide clear eyes and his soft, tousled hair.

When the pudding was finally depleted, Bikky took the cup and the spoon and the lid, and carefully threw them just outside the boundaries of the comforter. “I've banished them,” he said, looking sincerely at Randy. “I'll clean up later.”

Randy smiled over at him. “Now you're done, want a hug?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Bikky shuffled over to Randy, and pressed against his side. His head rested on Randy's chest, his arms draped into Randy's lap. Randy wrapped an arm around Bikky's head and just held him for a while. Their breathing fell into a slow rhythm, the only noise save for the traffic far below.

After a few minutes, Randy broke the silence.

“We both got a bit upset about all that, didn't we?”

“I guess,” murmured Bikky, without opening his eyes.

“I'm sorry about how not knowing what I'm going to do makes you feel insecure, Bikky. But I promise you I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you, even if something _should_ ever happen to me. There's lots of people who've got your back now – Carol and her aunt, Diana, Berkeley, the chief, but most of all – you know, if I got run down by a car tomorrow and I was in the hospital for six months, you know who'd have you, right?”

Bikky squirmed a bit.

“You know though, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, in a small voice.

Randy nuzzled his boy's hair.

“You'd better tell me what scares you so much about me and Dee,” he said, quietly.

“Okay,” Bikky replied, his eyes still tight.

Randy rocked him gently.

“Ryo...”

Randy waited.

“It's not about me. I'll be okay if anything happens to us. I always land on my feet, okay? I don't want you to worry about me, and I don't want you to think I'm worrying about me. It's _not_ 'cos of Dad.”

_My ass_ , thought Randy.

“It's 'cos I want _you_ to worry about _you_. I'm not _messing_ when I call you a space case. You never want to hear it but you _are_. Carol stole your wallet at the damn _station_ , Ryo! What if that was your gun? Or your apartment keys? Or someone threw a punch and it went bad? People die easy, Ryo, over the dumbest things...”

Randy squeezed him tighter. “I hear you, Bikky. But... I really mean it when I say I don't know how I feel about Dee yet...”

“How's he make you feel when he's around you?”

“He's annoying! He's such a pain in the ass...”

“So am I though, right?” Bikky grinned, twisting his neck for a moment to meet Randy's eyes.

“Yeah I guess,” smiled Randy, “but he should know better. He's twenty-seven years old for god's sake. _You_ , my friend, are a little boy, and this is your home. You can be as annoying as you like, and I'll still be here for you. Dee gets me into trouble at work, and he's irresponsible about money, and he's difficult with members of the public when he doesn't like them...”

“So why d'you keep letting him come over for dinner?”

“Don't get me wrong, he's basically a really nice guy. I like having him over – he's usually pretty helpful with cooking, and it's great having adult company sometimes. And – anyway – it's closer to the precinct, and anything that gets him to work on time keeps me out of trouble a bit longer, so I'm usually pretty happy when he stays over...”

“He keeps _hitting_ on you. Haven't you told him to knock it off yet? Do you like it or not, Ryo? I'm not telling you to get married and have kids, I'm asking if you even _like_ the attention. 'Cos first I figured definitely no, and then I thought maybe yes? And then you never did anything about it so I don't really know at all.”

“I guess...” Randy sighed. “I guess I thought he was teasing me to start with. To be honest I still think he was. He thinks I'm really uptight, so he likes trying to get my goat...”

“But how do you feel about the attention?”

“Uh. Not _bad_. It's not unpleasant to be told you're attractive to someone, even if they weren't exactly in your target audience, right?”

“Ryo, quit dodging the question!” burst Bikky, squirming in his arms. “Jeez, it's like talking to a freaking politician!”

“How – how he makes me feel?” mused Randy.

“Okay, like, compared to other people! Like if Berkeley came over and started being like that.”

“Berkeley's my superior! I wouldn't invite him by and force him to make the salad.”

“Or spend the night together in your parents' bed...”

“Look, it's a really big bed, okay? Not everything has to be sexual!”

“But you wouldn't let Berkeley in the bed, would you?”

“Well no, but that's for – a lot of reasons...”

“I'm not asking if you've decided you want to date him. I just want to know if you feel okay about him getting all touchy-feely with you,” Bikky said, earnestly.

“I like how it feels to be around him like that, yeah,” replied Randy. “He's a good guy. If I trust him to save my ass in a firefight, I guess I'm not going to freak out if he taps me on the same ass once in a while, just for play or whatever.”

“He's not playing, Ryo!”

“Okay, I guess I mean, so long as he's not gonna jump me or anything, I think it's nice to get touched a lot. He's a good guy, and it feels really good to be wanted, right? Like, it's been a really long time since I dated anybody, so it's good to know I'm not somehow gross or broken to everyone just because I haven't been looking.”

“It doesn't feel nasty?”

“Uh, should it?”

“I mean, 'cos he's a guy...”

“No, it doesn't,” said Randy, softly. “ _We're_ both guys, Bikky, and I love to hold you like this.”

“He's twenty-seven.”

“I'll still want to snuggle with you when _you're_ twenty-seven.”

“Gross,” grinned Bikky, and pushed his way further into Randy's lap.

“I like him,” said Randy, quietly. “I don't know how I feel about things. I don't mind finding out.”

“It's definitely not no yet, is it?”

“It isn't. I mean, it might not be yes. But I don't think it's got to be no.” Randy curled around Bikky to put his lips to his ear, and hissed: “ _Just don't tell him I said that._ ”

Bikky giggled. “Don't wanna give him any ideas.”

“Exactly.”

“So... it's worth it?”

“Worth...?”

“Worth knowing being around someone like Dee makes you less _safe_.”

Randy sighed. “Look, I'll try and take it seriously. I promise. It's hard for me to think of being around Dee making me less safe when I'm not sure what I mean by _being around Dee_. But you're right... gay men do get unwanted attention, don't they? So I'll try to dial it down when it's somewhere quiet but we're not alone, stuff like that. I'll really, really try and keep my wits about me on this one. For you, okay?”

“For both of us,” muttered Bikky.

“Yeah, okay. For both of us. And Dee's not a dumbass, you know.”

“Could have fooled me,” he grumbled.

“I mean it, Bikster – you know he grew up around here, and he's pretty cool about staying safe. He's not about to start grabbing my ass in some seedy bar or something. Dee knows how not to draw attention, even if I don't.”

“I guess at least it's not J.J....”

Randy pictured his loudmouthed twink colleague and winced at the thought of him walking into a biker bar. “I think J.J. would be better off avoiding that kind of place altogether. Although y'know, he definitely _is_ a competent police officer. You shouldn't forget that just because he's J.J..”

“It's kinda hard to imagine.”

“You haven't seen him when the chips are down!”

“Yeah yeah, okay, the twenty-seventh are immortal and the greatest cops on the planet,” grumbled Bikky, curling and uncurling his toes in a twist of the comforter.

Randy laughed. “I mean it. If everybody keeps telling me I'm oblivious, I must be at least a bit oblivious. I promise I'll try and think about how I look to people who don't have my best interests at heart. But Bikky...”

Bikky fidgeted.

“Bikky, you've got to start trying to do the same, okay? I know you probably know more about this than me, but I worry about you when you don't come home until late sometimes.”

“Is this about tonight?” he asked, surprised. “I stayed out for pick-up!”

Randy struggled to hide his relief. “Okay, that figures,” he told him, “but you need to try and call me whenever you can. I'm not gonna ground you over five minutes here and there, but don't you think the school receptionist would have let you give me a call? And I always make sure you've got change for the payphone!”

“Spent it on gum, but I did share.”

“The reception desk?”

“Nobody else has to call...”

“That's a problem for _their_ moms and dads. I want to know where you are, Bikky. I see so many bad things happen to so many good kids. If I'm going to try not to let Dee get handsy with me for no good reason, can you try a bit harder to call me when you're going to be out late?”

Bikky made a slight _you're-so-uncool-and-it's-making-me-less-cool-by-association_ moan, and didn't reply.

“Bikky... you know I'm being reasonable.”

“Yeah,” came the muffled reply from his lap, “and I hate it.”

“So we're agreed?”

“Yes, _mom_.”

Randy chuckled. “And you know to be really careful around cops, right?”

“Ryo, that's _obvious_. It's _sooooooo_ obvious. That's like the dumbest thing you've ever tried to lecture me over. _Ever_.”

“Oh my god, Bikky,” burst Randy, shaking him back and forth, still in his lap. “Promise! Your! Dad!”

The bare-board living room echoed with peels of preteen laughter, until a muffled thump came from the doorway.

“Yooooooo, anybody home?” came the cry.

“SHHHHH HIDE,” Bikky attempted to whisper, and Randy tried to muffle his giggles against the boy's head.

They could hear as their assailant carefully removed his shoes and threw them into the corner by the door, and padded through the apartment, from room to room.

“I KNOW YOU'RE IN HERE,” the voice thundered as it approached. “YOU LITERALLY NEVER LEAVE THE HALLWAY LIGHT ON WHEN YOU GO OUT YOU ANAL-RETENTIVE S.O.B.!”

“ _he said anal,_ ” snickered Bikky, setting them both off again.

A face appeared at the opening of the blanket fort, with messy black hair and a lopsided, self-assured grin.

“Hey nerds,” Dee greeted them. “I want in, what's the password?”

“The password's 'Dee Sucks',” pouted Bikky. “We were having _fun_ 'till you got here, jerkface.”

“Whatever loser,” said Dee cheerfully, and pushed his way into the fort. “I bought cake on the way back.” He waved a neat little paper bag at Bikky, which Randy privately thought looked like it had come from somewhere _far_ too expensive. “Looks like it just might be _too much_ for me to fit in my perfect belly with its washboard abs. Gonna help me eat it?”

“Yeah,” said Bikky, suddenly gravely serious. “Gimme.” He started carefully unpacking the bag, and doled out a pre-cut slice for everybody, complete with a wooden fork.

“A small price to pay for your mama's virginity,” grinned Dee, settling down between the two.

“Whatever,” said Bikky, slightly muffled by a mouthful of cake.

“That's no way to talk about me,” protested Randy, mildly, picking up his slice on its neat little card tray.

“Yes it is,” said Dee and Bikky, simultaneously.

The cake tasted fantastic.


End file.
